RESTAURANT REVIEW : A Club Crawl Stumbles on Sunset Strip

We noticed lately, that Carlos & Charlie’s, the landmark private club/public restaurant on the Sunset Strip, had become the CNC Club. A friend told us she’d seen Cher dancing there. The marquis cryptically listed a different club for each night of the week, but we wondered what was cooking in the kitchen.

We stopped by very early on a Saturday night. Very early, that is, in club terms: A little past 8. There were a few people eating in one alcove near the bar, but we were led to a large, utterly empty dining room, and seated at a small table for two adrift in the center. The rest of the tables, our waiter explained, were reserved. Sold out. In an hour or two, he assured us, the place would be packed.

Although the restaurant has one management and the club evenings are put on by different promoters, if you spend at least $15 per person on dinner you can get into the club without paying the $15 cover charge. Our waiter promised us that we, too, would be able to come back and dance to ‘70s disco hits.

The menu is minimalistic: A handful of appetizers, salads and entrees. We worked diligently to diminish a pile of tasteless crunchy shrimp that were not sufficiently enlivened either by a watery lemon cilantro dip or a mild salsa. Barbecued baby back ribs were cooked to a point of such soft gumminess that the meat fell apart at a touch. Thin wafers of chicken on skewers were acceptable although the peanut sauce wasn’t.

Anchovies were strongly present in an otherwise respectable, juicy Caesars salad. The so-called Simple Salad proved to be a huge heap of chopped winter pale tomatoes on some thinly sliced lettuce with chunks of blue cheese.

Entrees were characterized by large portions and uninspired cooking. The barbecued chicken, served with shoestring fries and a vinegary “health slaw,” was a dry grilled breast mopped with sweet sauce. Better flavored, but no more succulent, was the Southwestern chicken, seasoned with cumin, chile and cilantro. The New York steak was overcooked.

So the food wasn’t great, but it also doubled, we were reminded, as free admittance to the club. The problem was, we were done eating at 9:30, and the place was emptier than when we walked in.

“Come back in a few hours,” our waiter advised. We left our name on the guest list. The manager said if we had any problem, to ask for him. We left our car parked with the valets and walked to a movie.

We returned just before midnight. A large clot of young people had formed around CNC’s entrance, which was cordoned off. A couple big guys guarded the door while the man with the guest list on a clipboard talked to various people. We were probably the oldest people there by more years than I would care to divulge here. Disco music boomed. I could see into a small downstairs dining room where a number of young guys were drinking beer.

We told one of the big guys at the door that we’d had dinner and were supposed to be let in, and if he didn’t believe us to talk to the manager. He said that if the manager stuck his head outside, he’d ask about us. Some people left the club. A couple kids were pulled in from the crowd. We told the guy with the guest list that we were on it. He asked our name, glanced down for a second at his list, said, “No you aren’t.” More people, a 90-pound woman and her friends, were pulled inside. We waited, and one of the doormen actually looked inside for a moment to see if the manager was around. No luck. We felt older by the minute, and finally so old, we gave up--just as two cowboys wearing matching shirts emerged from the club.

“So how was it in there?” we asked them.

“Young,” said one.

“Good dancing,” the other allowed.

We tried again on a Wednesday night. When we called for reservations, a woman said, “There will be a scene upstairs called ‘Bump.’ ” We ate the same sort of dinner as before, generous portions of poor fare. Around 11, we wandered upstairs to check out the “Bump” scene. It was a bunch of guys in a dark room with a strobe light over the dance floor and music blaring. We danced a bit just to test the spring on the dance floor. Bad. But it was getting late, and we were getting older, and bed, frankly, sounded better than “Bump.”

* CNC Club, 8240 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood, (213) 656-0100. Dinner Monday through Saturday. Full bar. Valet parking. Major credit cards. Dinner for two $30 to $54.